


Bait

by thebicolouredhydra



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebicolouredhydra/pseuds/thebicolouredhydra
Summary: Spy's very good at uncovering dirty little secrets, but this one might hit too close to home.





	Bait

**Author's Note:**

> Done as an accompaniment to a piece of fan-art of the same name

It wasn’t that he was sitting back on the job. Spy never did that, despite what the others said from time to time. They never had any trouble making the accusation to his face either! In his line of work, waiting was a necessary evil. One couldn’t just charge on in there without having first carefully assessed the circumstances, real and projected. He was happy to leave the bullish guns-firing-and-bellowing to Soldier. Respawn was an unpleasant enough experience without leaping recklessly towards its reacquaintance. 

But Spy didn’t like a mystery. It felt like he was failing in his role. It was a given that he needed to know everything that was going on around him. Every detail, large or small, had to be committed to memory because who knew how useful it could prove to be later down the track? Such an approach had saved his hide too many times for it to be coincidence.

The first time he’d seen it, he hadn’t given it much attention... just a quick bookmarking of it into his memory. The second time... well, he’d actually paused in his silent approach behind a RED Scout who was crouching behind a low wall reloading his Force-A-Nature. Not a long enough pause to miss sliding his Kunai between the boy’s ribs, though, but what he’d seen had bothered the Frenchman for the rest of the day. The third time was the true red flag. There was definitely something peculiar going on.

And so, here he was, standing with one shoulder resting against the outer wall of the rickety wooden shelter that squatted a few dozen feet away from the abandoned warehouse. Cloaked, of course, but risking a cigarette since the wind was blowing towards him rather than away. His position afforded him an unhindered view of the doorway through which he waited for his quarry to go. There was always the chance that he was mistaken and that he would waste valuable mission time standing here when he could be picking off unguarded members of RED. He gave a slight shrug. No matter. He’d pulled his weight up ‘til now, so his team-mates couldn’t legitimately complain about his performance. Right now, Spy was far more interested in what had been going on in that warehouse.

It wasn’t long before the Pyro turned up, heading straight for the entrance. No evidence of hesitation in the slightest. The corner of Spy’s mouth turned up and he took a lengthy drag on his Gauloise. Of course, it was possible that Pyro had seen something to make them think that the RED Spy was lurking about. The front line wasn’t always the best place to be as a Spy. Richer pickings could often be found around the edges of the fighting. Sometimes those edges were a floor up and looking out of a broken window through a scope.

A few minutes passed before Spy made his own way towards the warehouse, the remains of his cigarette crushed into the dry grit next to the shelter. No need to advertise his whereabouts with telltale smoke. Most didn’t notice it, but Spy had learned to be very cautious around Pyro. Unlikely that cigarette smoke could make it through the gas mask’s filters, but Spy had been caught out on several occasions whilst cloaked and smoking, and there was enough doubt in his mind as to what had given his presence away to the RED Pyro to eschew a lit cigarette between his lips when approaching the faceless, fire-wielding merc’.

He knew which steps creaked and how to avoid them. He knew there was a floorboard two paces from the top of the stairs that groaned when you stood on it. What he didn’t know was what he was going to find in that corner room: a fact that both annoyed and intrigued him. He held the Ambassador loosely in his left hand and down at his side as he sidestepped his way to where he knew the Sniper was camped. It was a favourite spot for his team-mate because it gave him a wide view of the main battle area, presenting all manner of attractive targets. It was also a difficult spot for enemies to reach due to the choke points leading to it. The Engineer was always quick to barricade such slipping areas, so the Sniper would often nest here.

But why would the Pyro be sniffing around here? Spy had briefly considered that it could have been his own RED counterpart in disguise, but on the third time he’d seen the Pyro run into the warehouse, Spy had not seen any duplicate BLU Pyro out in the main area. Also, there had been no indication that Sniper had been sent to respawn which would have been the RED Spy’s goal. In fact, the BLU Spy had seen the Pyro run back out of the warehouse about twenty minutes after having gone in, and the headshots out of the smashed window pane on the first floor cracked on right after that.

So Spy surmised that there was something going on between the Sniper and the Pyro of his own team. Interesting. If there was dirt to be dug up, Spy was more than willing to do a bit of manual labour to unearth a juicy tidbit. Sniper and Pyro. The thought nearly made Spy snort. The Australian was frequently opaque, usually by omission. Trying to get information out of him was always a challenge since the man tended to favour monosyllabic answers. That was if Spy could even get him to talk. Sniper was suspicious of most people, but especially a Spy, even the one on his own team. Pyro... well, God only knew what was going on behind that blank rubber mask. That was a facade that Spy had never managed to penetrate, and sometimes he wondered if he ever actually wanted to. The absence of recognisable facial features made Pyro inherently creepy, not to mention that Spy frequently met a fiery death at the RED Pyro’s hands, which added to their own Pyro’s disturbing air. On the occasions that Spy had managed to kill the RED Pyro, he’d hesitated in removing the mask to learn what was underneath. The one time that he had taken the chance to unmask the enemy Pyro, it had proven a tougher task than he had anticipated, forcing him to resort to using his knife to try and slice away the stubborn rubber. Unfortunately, that had been when the RED Demo had found him and sticky-bombed him right in the groin. The Scotsman was unfailingly crass, even on the battlefield. After that, Spy had always given the idea of unmasking the dead RED Pyro a wide berth.

It wasn’t totally incomprehensible that Sniper and Pyro would conduct some form of secret liaison during battle. Surveillance on the base was high, especially in the barracks. Downtime was just as carefully scrutinised as the missions were. Plus it was far more likely they’d be discovered during ceasefire, especially if Spy had his way. The Frenchman reflexively adjusted his tie at that. Eavesdropping and observing his team-mates’ more unsavoury habits provided endless entertainment for Spy, not to mention a slew of blackmail material!

Sniper and Pyro. Spy’s mouth pursed into a moue even as the thrill of discovery skittered up his spine. His mind was already cataloguing and cross-referencing information to see how he could use this new knowledge to his advantage. That was until he heard the sounds coming from the room he was sliding slowly towards.

Of course, some form of sexual activity had been amongst Spy’s theories as to why Pyro and Sniper were conducting these furtive meetings, but the guttural groan that could only have come from the tall bushman still surprised Spy. He paused a few paces from the room, tilting his head to one side, attempting to decipher the sounds of pleasure. Sniper had never struck him as someone who would get that kind of thrill from... well, whatever it was that was going on in there. The Australian showed a very narrow range of emotion, so to hear him make such sounds of abandon just piqued Spy’s interest even further.

Gradually, he edged his way towards the doorway and leaned gingerly around the doorjamb, cautious even though cloaked. What he saw definitely wasn’t what he had expected.

On his knees, between the Sniper’s widely spread, lanky legs, was the RED Spy. The man’s back was to him, but there was no mistaking the pinstriped suit. Unlikely enough that Sniper and Pyro were conducting some bizarre form of sexual gratification between themselves, but this beggared belief! That Sniper was willing to allow the enemy to do what he was doing caused the mechanics of machination in Spy’s head to seize.

Stretched back over stacked wooden crates, his arms raised up and back over his head to press his hands firmly against the crate sides to give him purchase, the Sniper was clearly having no problem with what the RED Spy was doing. Stripped of his vest and his blue shirt, the Sniper looked oddly vulnerable, and the RED Spy’s gloved hand hooked under the white undershirt to expose the bushman’s long, lean midriff caused an automatic flexing of the BLU Spy’s muscles. So much uncovered flesh had a tendency to trigger his knife arm, and when it was laid out like this, it required some measure of self-control not to find a way to drag the edge of his blade along it.

Sniper let out another low groan and arched his back in a fluid wave that ran down to his hips, pushing up firmly and eagerly into the RED Spy’s mouth. The light that streamed in from the window above him caught the slick, wet flesh that was being rhythmically lapped at in glistening flickers. The Spy’s RED adversary had clearly managed to arouse the Sniper with little effort, and as the man tipped his head to one side to bury his tongue lower and deeper into the Sniper’s unzipped trousers, the cloaked Spy was treated to an unhindered view of what the Australian kept for special occasions. The BLU Spy’s lips pressed together tightly. It was a view he’d never managed to get until now since the Sniper favoured living in that disgusting van of his rather than in his allotted room in the barracks. Consequently the Sniper’s self-pleasuring had remained unobserved by the Spy which he grudgingly concluded as something of a shame. The sheer size of him was a delicious secret to uncover. It was an atrocity that it was the RED Spy that had claimed that trophy first, and he was putting that prize to thorough and lascivious use.

Running his mouth up the Sniper’s length, the RED Spy suckled on the flushed, taught skin, his breathing coming in deep, panting exhalations that were a whispering contrast to the Sniper’s unrestrained moans as he slid himself back and forth across the tongue of the man crouched eagerly between his splayed legs.

The BLU Spy shook his head slightly, attempting valiantly - and failing dismally - to override the sensations caused by inherent eroticism of what was taking place before him. Muscles tensing and relaxing in a delicious series of waves, open mouths giving and responding to an illicit pleasure, flesh slippery and hot and turgescent with lust, moans and sighs and growls that demanded and claimed and begged... 

It wasn’t the slow, grinding thrust of the Sniper’s hips or the tantalising sight of his tongue as it slipped from his slack mouth to curl back on to his sharp teeth. It wasn’t the corresponding arcing, sucking motion of the RED Spy’s head as he pressed his mouth over firm ridges and engorged veins, saliva trickling down into the Sniper’s groin so delectably displayed between the loosened fabric of his trousers. It wasn’t the wet, succulent sound of unabashed, lustful consumption or the desperate moans for more and more and more. It was the RED Spy’s right hand on the Sniper’s thigh that made BLU Spy pull the trigger. An innocent movement of leather-clad thumb brushing gently over the thick, rough fabric of the Sniper’s trousers. Almost soothing. Encouraging. Intimate. 

Recognisable.

Within seconds, the BLU Spy had de-cloaked, raised the Ambassador and sent a bullet straight through the back of the RED Spy’s skull. The report of the gun was painfully loud in the small, wooden-slatted room, a deep boom of judgement that dissolved bone and flesh into a scarlet wellspring of death.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

The BLU Spy’s eyes followed the slithering slip of the body to the floor as the Sniper pulled his legs in towards his torso, removing the support of the RED Spy’s limp form. It came to rest with a muffled thump and a bloom of deepening scarlet, the paper mask of the Pyro’s face punctured with a bullet hole. Right between the eyes.

“Are you crazy? I could’ve gotten my fucking dick bitten off!”

Spy turned his head slowly to fix the Sniper with an unwavering gaze, his left arm still pointed into an accusing finger of polished, engraved steel at the cooling body on the floor.

“A lesson you’d do well to learn, bushman.”

The Australian looked like a dead spider with his long limbs pulled tight into his body. It was probably how he managed to squeeze himself through small, shredding gaps and into claustrophobically tiny spaces. That and the fact he was as fatless as a snake. Spy’s eyes dropped to the Sniper’s groin before he could stop himself and, angry that he had, hissed through his teeth. 

Relinquishing the Ambassador’s signposting of the dead fellator, he noted that the Sniper’s kukri and rifle were oddly out of reach. That made him frown. The Sniper was never more than an arm’s length away from his weapons, but there they were in the corner of the room, the kukri’s blade a sharp down-turned mouth of disapproval and the rifle staring up blankly into the cobweb-shrouded darkness. The Australian would have been incapable of grabbing them without traversing several feet, and considering he’d been prone and distracted, this had left him shockingly unguarded.

The motion of the Sniper attempting to fit himself back into his trousers drew Spy’s attention. Had it not been for the circumstances, the Frenchman would’ve found the action risible, but now it just served to deepen his contempt. The blush sitting on the Sniper’s cheekbones had blossomed from lust into shame, and the way he rounded his shoulders in a pathetic attempt to use his body to shield his erection was both ludicrous and belated.

“Professionals have standards?”

The words made Sniper’s hands pause, and Spy saw the knuckles go white.

“I had no idea those standards were so low.”

It said a lot that Spy’s scorn filled words failed to raise the Sniper’s head. The man should be ashamed of what he’d done. Of what he’d allowed to be done to him. By the enemy.

“Are you that desperate, Mundy?” the Spy rolled on relentlessly, his face twisted into lines of revulsion that the Sniper refused to look at. “Has it been that long that all it took was the enemy to open his mouth and your trousers slipped down?”

The red-faced man actually bared his teeth in a snarl at that, a glint of razor-edged white that Spy knew from personal experience could draw blood.

“What you do in your own time is your business but on a mission I... and I’m certain the rest of the team... would appreciate it if you focussed on your job and not your dick!”

The Sniper’s hands tightened further into fists, the trouser fabric twisting and pulling.

“Is it a fetish? Getting sucked off in a dangerous situation; is that what you like?”

The Australian clamped his lips together even tighter and huffed through his nose, staring fixedly at the dead body at his feet. Spy looked at the punctured paper mask, the bullet-hole lightly singed around the edges.

“Or does the fetish wear a gas mask, hmm?”

The fact the Sniper flinched at that told the Spy he’d hit a nerve. It had been a slight flinch, but visible to him nonetheless. He was good at spotting such things. His job, after all.

“Jesus, jarman, everyone’s got their perversities, but for fuck’s sake, keep a rein on it! Let Pyro suck your dick _after_ a mission. That you’ll stoop to getting the enemy to do it is beyond deplorable.”

The Sniper actually turned his head to face away from the Spy, both the live one and the dead.

“Ahhh, Pyro doesn’t know!” Spy crooned as the pieces clicked together in his head. “How delightfully tragic.”

The shamed man growled at Spy’s delight at this revelation, undoubtedly realising that Spy now had an iron choke-hold on him. And Spy was a ruthless master when it came to blackmail.

“Oh, I will make you twist in the wind for this, Mundy,” the Frenchman sighed, the thrill of the power his discovery gave him stroking down his body like a lover’s solicitous hands. “What I won’t make you do for me to keep your sordid little secret!”

Spy’s attention returned to the Sniper’s groin once more, this time willingly. It occurred to him that the RED Spy had probably sniffed the Sniper’s secret out and used it to his own advantage. He smiled widely at that. Partially it was from a grudging admiration and acknowledgement of the RED’s achievement, but mostly because now the BLU Spy had the chance to steal someone else’s candy. And if there was one thing Spy loved more than claiming a blackmailer’s privilege, it was claiming someone else’s.

His gaze slithered around the sight of the Sniper’s still visible and impressive engorgement, weighing up his options. He had to admit that the idea of taking this man right now, in the middle of a mission, had erotogenic merit. To cuckold the RED Spy right after killing him... oh that was too delicious a concept not to act upon! He knew that nothing would enrage the RED more than to have another pick up right where he was when he was shot.

The muscles in Spy’s legs tensed under the suit fabric at the thought. And after all, his stolen prize was already ready for him. Spy just needed to smack those tense hands away and open wide. He’d make it predatory. There’d be no supplication in it. No tender gestures. Spy would literally eat him alive and make him beg for more.

But perhaps he should make the jarman get down on his knees and show the Spy how accommodating his own throat was. What a perfect way to crystallise his power over the Australian! Perhaps he’d even make him kneel on the RED Spy’s corpse while he did it.

As if hearing the Spy’s perverted thought, the Sniper turned his head slowly, his aviators low enough on his nose for the Spy to see the burning shards of light in his eyes. Oh, this one was going to be difficult to wrangle, and keeping him from biting... The Frenchman actually shivered in pleasurable anticipation of the danger and the struggle. That was until he saw the Sniper’s eyes flick to the right... over the Spy’s shoulder.

He spun around, and the core of molten lust running from the back of his skull down through his spine and into his groin changed to fractured ice.

Two blank, black eyes stared back at him, and Spy realised he’d been duped.

“Thing is, Pyro already knows.”

The rumbling drawl behind him sounded no trace of the shame and embarrassment that Spy had thought he’d read on the Sniper’s face.

Pyro tilted their head to one side, like a bird about to mercilessly drag a worm back out of the hole it had attempted to flee down, the shotgun cradled lightly but confidently in dull yellow-tipped fingers... aimed directly at Spy’s chest.

In his peripheral vision, Spy saw Sniper pick up his kukri and rifle, the blue and browns and tans of his uniform now covering his body as they usually did.

“So do what you like with my little secret, spook. I couldn’t give a fuck.”

Spy risked looking away from the Pyro and at the lanky bushman smirking down at him, pointed canines solidifying his feral, untamed appearance. He circled around behind the Spy and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“I will say this, though. Pyro sure likes seeing you on your knees sucking me off. Even if you are dressed in red.” The Sniper’s voice, so close to Spy’s ear, made the suited man shudder. “And you’re good. But not as good as Pyro. Perhaps you need more practice.”

With that, he slid past the Pyro, kukri tucked into his belt and his rifle resting back across one shoulder, the back of one outstretched finger brushed along Pyro’s jaw as he passed. And then he was gone.

The end of Pyro’s shotgun dropped from Spy’s chest to slip between his legs, the cold metal sliding up his inner thigh to stroke, once, ever so gently at his balls with the muzzle - a threat or a promise? Spy couldn’t hide the flinch it caused, his nostrils flaring wide with fear and chagrin. Pyro stepped back a few paces, and then followed the Sniper out, leaving the Spy to wonder just who had been the real bait in this twisted trap he’d walked into.


End file.
